


Harry Hart Held His Hollow Heart In His Hands

by CieldelaRose



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M, Soulmate Scars AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 07:11:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3682821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CieldelaRose/pseuds/CieldelaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gary Unwin had etched his name on it in thin dark letters.<br/>------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>There’s a scar on his wrist that burns when he touches it. It’s on his pulse point, difficult to conceal, but more manageable than one on his neck or hands. He brushes his thumb over it sometimes, and little by little the scar morphs into letters for a couple of seconds, before fading into a greyish white scar once more. That’s his name, the name of his soulmate, etched on his skin. Harry Hart, a man he’s never met, but who is irrevocably a part of him, someone that belongs to him and someone he belongs to, or hopes to, someday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No name's as sweet

There’s a scar on his wrist that burns when he touches it. It’s on his pulse point, difficult to conceal, but more manageable than one on his neck or hands. He brushes his thumb over it sometimes, and little by little the scar morphs into letters for a couple of seconds, before fading into a greyish white scar once more. That’s his name, the name of his soulmate, etched on his skin. Harry Hart, a man he’s never met, but who is irrevocably a part of him, someone that belongs to him and someone he belongs to, or hopes to, someday. Harry Hart’s writing is neat and slightly loopy, a bit old-fashioned and posh. Eggsy laments his own calligraphy sometimes, knows that somewhere on that man’s skin is written Gary Unwin in letters much less detailed and sloppier. 

His mom tried to show him how to do fancy things with the G and the U at some point, after his 9th birthday, but he’s always messed them up when he tried them alone, writing on the margins of his school notebooks. There are pages and pages of him trying out his signature, mostly from middle school. Whenever he got bored, whenever he could get away with it (and he always could get away with anything he put his mind to) he tried to practice what his mum thought him. The curve of his G somehow always turned out like an accidental slip of the pen on the paper, never like the easy, pretty tilt to his name he was hoping to achieve and the U looked more like an A each time he got to it. He could never get them to cooperate with the rest of the fancy letters he kind of managed to write (although he hated the way his n’s looked and the r never really took to his careful loop). Not once did the right combination of styles take to his name the way he wanted it to, so he decided to cut his losses. Better to leave it as is. He stopped trying to change his handwriting when he was 13.

It wasn’t common for people to have such pretty letters under their scars, not where he lived, anyway. Ryan had a sludge of dark letters in a dark red scar on his knee that looked like someone had an accident with a pen, probably a deadly one by the sharpness of the sses. Ryan swears up and down that it says ‘Liam Sanders’ but it’s just as likely that a squirrel got a hold of a pen and decided he needed a tattoo. His other mate, Jamal, has cutesy, heart dotted handwriting with ‘Kathy Maia Dent’ behind his left ear that he secretly looks at whenever he goes to the bathroom. They don’t talk much about Eggsy’s scar, other than punching his arm lightly and playfully commenting on how much of a stuck up posh git his soulmate is going to be. He counters to Ryan that at least his was legible and tells Jamal that he’s going to end up dating a primary school teacher (he does, she’ll insist on cutesying up Jamal’s signature like her own and she’ll turn bacon loving one pack a day smoking Jamal into a vegan and it will be fucking funny as shit someday). 

His mom presses the pads of her fingers on her light brown scar whenever she thinks nobody’s looking, pushing hard at the inside of her arm as a source of comfort. He doesn’t say anything whenever she does this, just fiddles with his medal and turns his head to look at Gracie. He puts an effort into making her bring out her toothless smile and doesn’t spare a glance at his own white burn-like Ryan. He’s never seen Dean’s scar, doesn’t really want to, and he spends the first two years his mom is with him silently hoping Dean will find the unlucky son of a bitch thats stuck with him as a soulmate and fuck off out of their lives forever. 

There’s not much to do in their neighborhood, but life is full of opportunities for those who search and children are nothing if not adventure hungry. When they were 12 and 13, Jamal, Ryan and Eggsy (along with a boy named Steve that decided he was too cool for them at some point and left for greener, weed-smoking pastures) spent their time out of school bothering old ladies and committing minor felonies like stealing a pack of gum from the convenience store down the street from Ryan’s apartment. They caused a small flood in Ms.Mourrell’s house, shaved Ms.Whittney’s cat and almost gave Mr.Colin a heart attack in the span of one day. It wasn’t even in their top ten most eventful days. Ms.Whittney still yelled profanities at them whenever she saw them, even after 7 years. They were little hellions, but what they did didn’t come close to what half of what other kids their age did in that part of the city, so they flew under the radar for most of their teenage years. 

There’s a loyalty that forms between gum thieves much like the one formed between soldiers from the same country fighting somewhere far from home. They knew when Jamal was in the mood to get absolutely hammered, kept quiet when Ryan set someone’s house on fire by accident and didn’t talk about Eggsy’s ever-growing list of bruises. So when they go out to the pub on Tuesday and Ryan fesses up to having a crush on one of the waiters at the shite coffee shop three blocks down they immediately force him out of his chair and walk down the street to check out what this bloke is all about. Turns out his name is Aron Santos, he’s Ryan’s soulmate. They sit there for twenty minutes waiting on him to stop snogging the living daylights out of his newfound soulmate in the backroom while talking shit about Ryans reading skills. 

On Monday he steals some money from a shop on the south side of the city so he can afford a necklace for his mom’s birthday. On Friday he buys Ryan and Jamal a pint with what’s left of the money and gets caught driving one of Dean’s goon’s car. In the interrogation room, faced with the prospect of leaving his mum with Dean for sixteen months, he clutches at the medal and yanks it off its chain. He calls the number on the back of it and prays for a small miracle.


	2. Hit me like a bullet babe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxy gets some news.

Galahad isn’t a miracle, but he might as well be, with the way his shoes shine and his glasses reflect light. His teeth might be just as bright, but they remain mostly hidden throughout the conversation. His eyes attentive and his gaze commanding behind his glasses. “Gary Unwin” he says, and Eggsy stares him down. He doesn’t get a name, not a real one anyway, but he thinks the codename is strangely fitting. He sizes the man up whilst they walk side by side, noting the broadness of his shoulders and the way he walks. Its either the cut of his suit, or the way he looks on in apparent disdain that screams _Pompous prick_ , and Eggsy’s seen enough of them to know what they usually look like. He doesn’t know what this Galahad bloke wants from him, and that’s enough for him to keep some space between them and check for the phone in his pocket he picked up from Officer Lee at the front desk along with his keys and wallet.

At first he thought he was someone looking for a twink desperate for some rent money. It wouldn’t be the first time someone showed interest. It was practically a given, if you make someone that indebted to you, you could pretty much do what you like for as long as you like, if you kept feeding them the right amount of cash. Worked especially well if you wanted to keep things hush hush. The name Galahad was kind of kinky too, if you were into those sort of codenames in bed. But no, that couldn’t be it. If he was looking for a cute young man in desperate need of a sugar daddy, it would be much easier to just go down the street in that sexy suit of his. The man was handsome too, so it wouldn't be hard to find one willing enough. This was a bit too much work for that.

A job interview, fair enough then. He could deal with that. A job interview for an awesome job, no less. _Sweet_. Would be better if half of the people in the room weren’t utter dicks, but he’s dealt with dicks all his life. (Well, not that way. Not that much anyway, since he mostly picked up birds, if he went home with someone at all.) He could deal with Arseholes, especially pretentious self-centered arseholes who wouldn’t know what tap water is if it bit them in the arse. Some of them have poles so deep in their asses he was sure he could see them in the back of their fuckin throats when they spoke shit. Maybe that’s were they were getting all the shit they spewed at the mere sight of him. Dick #1, #2, #3, #4 and #5 didn’t seem like much of a threat though. That Charlie wanker lead them around like he was king of the playground, and Eggsy got the feeling that this was the sort of job interview were following someone around like some muts wouldn’t help their chances with the big boss upstairs. Good to know that even off the streets, dickheads ran in packs. Nature was interesting like that.

Roxy interrupts his train of thought, putting a hand on his shoulder and calling out his name. He finishes tucking the covers and arranging the pillow before turning to her. “You want to go check out the gym and maybe workout a bit?” He grins in response. “Someone woke up on the right side of the bed today. Yeah, sure. Just give me a mo.” She smiles at him and he reaches down to tie his boots.

Roxy was a blessing. Smart, headstrong and athletic. Funny too, in a way most people of her social circles probably scoff at. An ally, if he plays his cards right and doesn’t get on her bad side. She can kick higher then him and punch with more accuracy, he finds out thirty minutes later, sweating it out by her side as they tear through some punching bags. But he’s got her beat on flexibility, and he smirks at her from between his arms when they decide to take a break in the form of gravity-defying yoga poses. She rolls her eyes at him and leans up quickly to prod his side hard so he falls on his ass. After that they visit the training room whenever they need to let off some steam. Fucked up an easy lesson? See who can run the fastest on the treadmills. Merlin giving them shit for an exercise one of Charlie’s goons screwed up? Weight lifting competition that ends with Roxy nearly bench pressing Eggsy. They come there enough that they know a third of the agents. It becomes a sort of a safe haven where the two of them to duke it out and just generally muck about.

Two months later he’s swatting her hand away from JB while removing his shirt.

“Stop feedin’ him treats or he won’t get through training. You got your own.” She huffs at him playfully and turns to look at Porchia’s sleeping figure. She pauses for a moment and sneaks a look to see if everyone’s asleep.

“Want to go check out the new suspension trainers?” He stares at her. It’s a lot later then they’re used to, and he’s halfway through folding his clothes, but he nods to her nonetheless. Roxy wants to talk about something important, by the looks of things. He takes note of how the stiffness of her posture drains at his affirmative.

The gym is silent and cool, empty at this hour. The “new” suspension trainers have been there for over a week now. They saw Tristan practicing on them on Monday and Bors on Wednesday. They pass the leg and arm machines and sit in the back near the storage racks. They don’t talk on the way there and he stays silent while she gains courage to speak her mind. They’ve been seated for about four minutes when she finally breaks the silence.

“Do you have a soulmate, Eggsy?” He opens his mouth to respond when she cuts him off. “I mean, of course you’ve got one. You’ve shown me the scar ages ago, I-“ She stops, thinking about what she’s going to say next. Roxy stops studying the weights and focuses on him. “Do you know who your soulmate is, Eggsy?” He startles under the sudden weight of her gaze.

“No. Haven’t met him yet.” He offers. She nods as if she knew this already and he wonders where this conversation is going. They’ve already compared scars. Hers was a pinkish, almost unnoticeable small line on her thigh that disappeared completely under her dresses. He’s shown her his a month ago in a tent made of sticks and leafs in the middle of a hunting exercise somewhere in the Amazonian rain forest, but they’ve never actually seen each other’s soulmate’s name.

“You remember that candidate that “drowned” in the first challenge?” He nods and gently squeezes her forearm to tell her to go on. “I found out she’s my soulmate yesterday” She says quietly, looking down at her legs. _Oh_. Eggsy hugs her, smothers her completely. He can tell she’s not sad, exactly, it’s the abruptness of it all, the shock. It’s one thing to carry around the name of a complete stranger, to stare at it every day and think _“This is the person I’m going to spend the rest of my life with someday.”_ You know you’re going to meet them eventually, maybe they’re even right around the corner. But it’s always in the future, tomorrow, a month from now, _years from now_. Roxy turned a corner and got hit with the wrecking ball equivalent of life changing news.

They spend the next two hours talking in hushed tones until Roxy decides she’ll deal with it after she gets through training.


	3. Were soft but bittersweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's point of view. I think it's time we all took a look at what's happening on the other side of Eggsy's soulmate scar.  
> If you see any mistakes please tell me. English is but a mistress, I'm married to another language.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware that I changed Eggsys age. He's Taron's age because I thought it would fit in better.

Sometimes, a soul mark is unrequited, as in: there are two people with someone’s name on them, and only one person’s name is on the other person’s skin. There are countless stories, greek and roman tragedies woven in bloodshed and tears. Agda and brothers Tadeas and Callisthenes; Manius, a slave and unrequited soulmate of emperor Quintis; Inuis and his childhood friends turned soulmates. They weren’t very uncommon either and since around 20% of the world’s population never met their soulmates, it was somewhat easy to blend in as an active and accepted member of society.

Some people weren't that lucky, some were born blank. Having one mark was normal, having two was acceptable, none was asking for trouble. In a society driven by the romantic idea of bonds and true love and perfect pairs, being born without one is a curse.

Of course, you can fake a soulmate scar easily enough, tell everyone the person died when there are no letters beneath, but the knowledge stays with you. Knowing that you’re flawed, that there was no one out there for you, it breaks you. Galahad sees a scar on Gary Unwin’s wrist, peeking out from under his horrible jacket when he goes for his pint of Guinness. Harry doesn’t know if its fake, but he’ll take what he can get, given the circumstances.

Children and teens under 16 were mark-less. The oldest anyone’s gotten the scar is 40 years old. Harry Hart believed himself a part of the minority for a while. (He certainly has enough scars that any one of them could be used as a cover if need be.) He’s pleasantly surprised, however, when he gets his. He’s 31, a little older than most, when he wakes up to a wide purplish mark over his heart that covers a fifth of his left pectoral and a bit of the right one. The scar gives way for a series of letters when he brushes over it, _Gary Unwin_ looking up at him in a black, barely readable scrawl that was beautiful in its simplicity. He felt something unwinding in his chest at the sight, a weight slipping off his shoulders. So many nights spent awake, thinking he was alone, considering a life of solitude and isolation, to find he wasn’t meant to be companionless after all.

He’s already chosen Lee Unwin for a position within Kingsman when he gets his mark, and he wonders if his soulmate is a relative of his protégé, a distant cousin perhaps, since Lee was an only child. He thinks he’ll look into it when the Lancelot trials are over, ask Lee before searching his family tree, whether or not he gets the job. He never gets the chance. A week later Lee Unwin dies protecting him from a shower of shrapnel and guilt claws at his chest.

It gets messy, he gets messy, but he shoves through it. He checks Lee’s files and decides the best way to honor the man is to pay his respects to Lee’s family. That was the plan, in any case. He scans the records in the privacy of his office, sipping on his whiskey in the dead of night. On the right hand corner, a space down from the words CONFIDENTIAL are the names of Lee Unwin’s wife and 7 year old son. Michelle Unwin and Gary Unwin. Something settles low in his gut, something dark, heavy and old. He never got the opportunity to break the news to Lee that his 7 year old son is his soulmate. His bloody _7 year old son_. Maybe he was made to be alone after all.

Galahad still goes to see the family, if only for Lee’s sake, and it feels very much like a dagger going through him when those big green eyes look his way. He makes his excuses and leaves before the pain gets unbearable, but he’s pretty sure the damage is already done.

He doesn’t interfere with their lives after that. He does his job, and he might have been brilliant at it before this whole mess, but he immerses himself in it afterwards, because it’s the only thing that’ll give him a sense of belonging. Harry reminds himself that the boy doesn’t need him and tries to move on with his miserable life. No pictures, no phone calls, no school records, nothing. Those eyes keep him awake sometimes thought, a lonely light in the otherwise pitch-black night, a reminder of what he’ll never have, of what he isn’t entitled to.

Eggsy calls, and Harry shuts himself in his office when the operator forwards him the information. He whispers _“Oh thank fucking god”_ softly to himself and tries to steel himself from the hurt, but he _shakes_ with the uncertainty of it all for a moment. He has to remind himself of why he can’t have this, why he must remain alone, and ignores how his scar burns in his chest.

He isn’t sure what to expect from Gary Unwin, doesn’t have the faintest of what he’s done in the time they’ve been apart, so he pulls up Eggsy’s records on his mobile on the taxi ride to the station and tries not to feel disappointed with what he finds there. The boy’s grown up, by the looks of things, a shiny school record to go with his police one. Impressive, even if somewhat disheartening. So much potential wasted. He thinks of what the boy would’ve been if Harry had stayed, if he’d guided him into becoming something better, and resolutely steers away from the idea.

The boy, a man now, is lean and somewhat stocky, with nice shoulders and intense green eyes. There’s confidence in his steps that comes out when they walk side by side, but he clutches at his phone, eyes him distrustfully and keeps his distance. Just as well, he’s done nothing to prove himself worthy of the boy’s trust, and it’s good to know Eggsy won’t lower his defenses for the first giving hand he sees. In his experience, it’s much better to not only look a gift horse in the mouth, but keep tranquilizers on you at all times. Gary asks for his name and the answer chokes and dies somewhere in the back of his throat. “Galahad”, he tells him, because at least he isn’t lying to the boy, and then Harry tries and fails not to look at the way his eyes light up at the mention of his father.

Sometime later he’s proposing Eggsy for the Lancelot role and clenching his fists at the hope brewing in his rib cage and the panic welling in his gut.


End file.
